The Opposite of Innocent | A Sequel to Unexpected Roommates [DISCONTINUED]

Chapter 10: Streaming Rivers

The lake water was cold and clean, chilling you to the bone and washing away the sins plaguing your hands. You hadn't had a proper clean in months, and now, just before dinner, being able to scrub away the dirt and sweat was something you would never take for granted again. Isolated beneath the shining coin of the moon in the sky you had felt peace, your first break from sorrow and tension- the promise of rain was heavy, moments from breaking, but you still felt no rush as you waded out into the lapping waves and savoured the icy bite. Without much touch from the cold, you sank beneath the surface, the gentle rustling of trees and wind replaced by nothing but the pressure of silence. An exhale; bubbles, round and white and pristine, waded from your tongue and climbed with desperate hands towards death at the surface. You watched them, and felt for them, and followed them as your head broke free once more with a chilled gasp for air.  During your short seconds beneath the waves, pushing your wet hair back away from your face, you noticed that the clouds had finally started to cry their plump, warm tears.

"Thank you," You whispered out, face upturned, basking in the downfall, "Thank you for letting me get home again." You rose your hands above your head, palms skyward. As the rain picked up, battering your mortal form, they ran from your fingertips and streamed into the lake around you. "Thank you for the rain, and the lake," You didn't know who you were talking to. God, maybe, or maybe not. After your moment of utter peace, you let your hands fall, and began to wash.

***

Dinner rolled around. You bundled up in warm, fresh clothing, and feasted to your heart's content on food that filled your stomach and heated your soul. You smiled and laughed and shoved away worry, dreading, anticipating the meeting that was to come. Sooner or later your third bowl was empty and you couldn't stomach anything else. Sooner or later, you came to terms with the fact that hiding from the truth wasn't going to assure their survival. Your voice broke through a bout of laughter, snapping the tension that had blanketed the group over the course of your dinner.

"I want to see them now, please." You killed the laughter, and silence reigned, the rain still bearing down from the sky and thudding against the dilapidated roof of the abandoned cabin you had all moved to for shelter. No one dared to speak, until Hannibal, the one who always seemed to do the dirty work, stood from his seat and extended a hand towards you.

"As you wish, (Y/N); just be prepared. It isn't pretty." With a deep breath, you nodded, and took his hand in yours, glad for the comfort as he led you through the darkened building in nothing but the light of the moon. You were silent the whole way there. He pushed open a door, heavy and rotted, and revealed a candle-lit room on the other side. In two dusty cots were too battered bodies; you knew them both well despite not having seen them for such a long time. "I know I don't have to tell you to be gentle with them." Hannibal's voice was soft. 

"Thank you. Can I... can I have a few moments with them alone?" You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, and are met with the sight of his sorrowful smile.

"Of course." He places his hand softly on the side of your face, gently smoothing your hair, before turning around and leaving you to your own angry storm of emotion. For a choking moment you couldn't will yourself to turn around; you didn't want to see them again, accept the fact that they really were knocking loudly on death's door, but somehow you managed to turn yourself around and take in the sight of them. Danny's shirt was missing, exposing jutting ribs and deep, red scratch marks along his shoulders and arms. He was pale and patchy, eyes sunken and gaunt, lids shut fraily over yellow eyes you had grown to love so much. His hair was a mess; his chin had grown over with scruff. Brahms, on the other side of the room, looked only slightly better. Thick bandages wrapped his stomach, his hair held away from his face by a small brown clip. He was fast asleep, his burnt face exposed to any nagging eyes.